


Just a Dream

by Spotsy



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Illya and Napoleon adventures, Just having fun really, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:12:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spotsy/pseuds/Spotsy
Summary: Illya has a run-in with the supernatural





	

There was no moon in the black sky, no ray of light shining from the windows of the castle looming up ahead.  Tall, sprawling trees twined round and through the winding path and dark bats swooped down over the two agents’ heads, making them duck as they cautiously wound their way up to the castle on the hill.

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea, _tovarisch_ ,” Napoleon said in a low voice.

“And whose bad idea was it, may I ask, that got us into this mess?” Illya asked caustically. “And why are you whispering?  We’re the only ones here.”

“As far as you know,” Napoleon said mysteriously.  “And, hey, it’s not my fault that THRUSH saw through my brilliant scheme.  Besides, _you_ didn’t help matters by blowing up that car _that we could have used_.  It’s a very bad habit of yours, _tovarisch_.” Napoleon wagged his finger at him.

Illya snorted. “I didn’t notice you saying anything against it when I planted that bomb.”

“That’s because I didn’t know that my brilliant scheme would be discovered.”

Illya snorted. “Not such a brilliant scheme then.”

The castle was within fifty feet of them now and they slowed their pace to look up at the shadowy fortress that rose before them.  

The castle was very tall, giving it the appearance of being quite narrow.  Vines wrapped their arms possessively around the stone structure, and trees hovered close by, as if waiting for the chance to pounce on anyone who dared venture in or out of the castle.  The castle itself was dilapidated, its foundation sunk deep into the ground, and a few stones seemed ready to dislodge.  Just then, a stone fell from the foundation to the ground.  Illya hoped that the inside looked better than the outside did.

“Shall we?” Illya indicated the castle door.

Together, they heaved--- it amounted to that—the large, protesting door open, and cautiously peered in.  Immediately, a large plank crashed down from above.  If Napoleon had not whisked Illya back just in time, it probably would have killed his friend.  It fell to the floor with a deafening thud. 

Illya raised a brow.  “That was close.”

“Tell me about it. I just saw your life flash before my eyes.”

“That would be impossible.  You have not known me all my life.”

“It’s just an expression, Illya.  Don’t be so literal.”

They walked deeper into the castle, using their hands to sweep away the thick spider webs that draped in front of them.  It was dark inside… very dark.  The two agents could barely see past the shadows stabbing at their eyes.  Illya bumped against something hard.  He felt with his hands and was surprised to feel something plush beneath them.  “A couch?” he wondered aloud, as Napoleon came up beside him.  “That’s odd.”

“Must’ve been someone living here recently, then.”

“Napoleon, do you still have that flashlight with you?”

Napoleon fumbled in his coat.  “Yeah, I’ve still got it… somewhere.”

“Well, find it.  I can’t see where we’re going.”

“You and me, both.  Aha!”  Napoleon flicked on the flashlight, shining it directly into Illya’s face.  Illya squinted.

“Napoleon.” Illya said sternly.

Napoleon laughed and moved the light away.  They investigated the room in silence.

“It’s a very odd place, this.”

“Reminds me a bit of my family castle.”

“You have a castle?”

“I will, once I inherit.”

“How un-American of you.” Illya laughed.

Napoleon pushed on a door, “Hm, wonder where this leads to...” he stepped inside. “Whoa.”

Illya followed.  Instantly, he was surrounded by what seemed like millions of identical replications of himself.

The room was full of oddly shaped mirrors.  Even the ceiling was covered with them.  No matter which way they turned, an image of themselves stared wide-eyed back at them. 

“What kind of person fills a room with mirrors?” Illya scoffed.

“Oh, I don’t know, it isn’t so bad.” Napoleon said, staring at himself, obviously taken with the view.

There was a noise. 

“What’s that?” Illya whispered.

“What?”

The sound was barely audible… a mere whisper.  But it sent chills up Illya’s spine.  “That.  Do you hear it?”

Napoleon nodded.  The sound grew louder.  It sounded like voices… jumbled words and voices blending together.  Another sound broke through the steadily rising cacophony.  Was that a laugh?  Illya frowned.

Suddenly, there was a loud creak-- Illya’s head whipped around.

Another creak sounded, this time coming from the hallway.  A door slammed upstairs… the sound of pattering feet scurried across the landing.  “Napoleon?”

“Looks like we’re not alone here,” Napoleon said grimly.

“The question is: who are our companions?”

“And where?” 

Another creak sounded, closer this time.  It was as if the sounds were coming at them from every side, taunting them, “Look this way!  No, the other way!”

“Let’s get out of here!”

They headed towards the nearest door.  The voices followed them, growing louder and louder.  “Quick, Napoleon!”

By now the voices were deafening.  They screamed in the agents ears.  Napoleon fumbled with the doorknob.

“I can’t open it!”

“Let me try!”

Illya yanked on the handle with all his might.  The door swung open.  Quickly, the two scrambled out of the room with mirrors and slammed the door behind them.

There was silence.

Illya breathed a sigh of relief.  “Whew, that was—“he stopped.  Something wasn’t right.  He could feel it. An age-old phrase came to mind, “By the pricking of his thumbs”.   And not just his thumbs-- his very skin seemed to crawl, warning him that they were in danger.  A breath of wind brushed his cheek.  Or was it the wind? 

Heart pounding, each movement feeling like the motions of a slow, rickety machine, Illya turned around… and saw the impossible. 

He swept a hand over his eyes and stared again.  _It_ was still there… a pale figure floating—actually _floating_ \-- up a flight of crooked stairs.  Illya choked back a burst of hysterical laughter.  No—that was impossible.  It wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be.  Illya didn’t believe in ghosts.  Ghosts didn’t— _couldn’t_ exist.  They were merely a figment of high-strung peoples’ imaginations.   Then why…?

He shot a glance at Napoleon to see if he was seeing the same thing.  Apparently, he was, for Napoleon’s eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.  “Are you seeing this, _tovarisch_?”

Illya swallowed.  “No.” he said firmly.  “I’m not seeing this… you’re not seeing this-- w _e’re_ not seeing this.  It’s impossible.”

“It’s right there!” Napoleon grabbed Illya’s arm.  “You see it too, don’t you!” Napoleon shook him.  “You do!  Admit it!”

Illya looked dazedly at the floating figure.  Yes, he was seeing it.  But… how?  He shook his head, staring wild-eyed at the thing that shouldn’t be there.

A roaring gust of wind tore through their hair and ripped at their clothing.  A bright, white light blinded them, leaving them utterly at the mercy of whatever nightmare was coming for them.  Illya felt a hand grasp his shoulder; somebody was shaking him.  Through the roaring sound pounding through his ears, he faintly heard someone calling to him from beyond the mist, someone familiar— Napoleon?

“ _Tovarisch!_ ”

 Illya awoke with a start.  Napoleon was peering at him, a look of both concern and amusement on his face.  “Some dream you must have been having.  I had a hell of a time trying to wake you.”

Illya let out a shuddering sigh of relief.  “So, it wasn’t real.”

Napoleon raised his eyebrows.  “That bad, huh?”

Illya didn’t answer, his eyes gratefully taking in the reassuring gray walls of his office and the friendly face of his friend.   His eyes fell upon the window, overlooking a cloudy day.  And then he saw it…. the shadowy face of the figure on the stairs.  It was there, in the window pane, staring right at him.  Illya gasped.

“Illya, are you all right??”

Illya blinked.  The figure was gone.  “It was just a dream.” he said, giving himself a mental shake.  Then he repeated, ‘It was just a dream.”

 


End file.
